London Bridges
by Magdaleria
Summary: I lived, I died, and I woke up. In which nothing makes sense, denial is not just a river in Egypt, and unhealthy coping mechanisms are the bread and butter of shinobi life. - SI as fem!Naruto, a tale of unstable realities, deception, and large amounts of stray animals.
1. Chapter 1

**London Bridges**

 _ **"** I lived, I died, and I woke up. In which nothing makes sense, denial is not just a river in Egypt, and unhealthy coping mechanisms are the bread and butter of shinobi life. SI as fem!Naruto, a tale of unstable realities, deception, and an unhealthy amount of stray animals."_

 _Chapter 1_

* * *

It started like this.

I was seventeen years old, a few scant months before I was supposed to graduate high school. My GPA was good, I had a partial scholarship to my dream school, and a job I kind of enjoyed. Life wasn't particularly exciting, but I was content.

It was a little after 6:00pm on a Friday evening and I was on my way to my dad's house to visit for the weekend. It was raining sideways, and the roads were a bit slick, but my tires were still in relatively good shape, so I didn't think twice about it; I'd made this trip a hundred times before.

My phone was on shuffle, and Sufjan Steven's voice hummed from my speakers. "What's left is only bittersweet, for the rest of my life, admitting the best is behind me."

The heat was on, almost too warm, and I nearly drifted off as I drove, comfortable and sleepy after a long day of school.

It ended like this.

A car merged in front of me suddenly – no warning, no turn signal, and I found myself slamming on my breaks. The world seemed to stop as the car slid forward, too fast, too fast-

I jerked the wheel to the side in a panic, and the whole vehicle teetered for a single, heart-stopping moment, before slamming into the guardrail to my right with an earth-shattering boom. My head snapped forward, and there was a single moment of chaos, the airbags, the airbags didn't go off-!

-a blossom of pain in my neck, in my skull as it impacted with the steering wheel, and then suddenly-

Nothing. It ended.

And it began again.

* * *

I woke up.

It came in phases – the vague memory of a hand on my forehead, an uncomfortable prick at my elbow, someone tipping a liquid into my mouth and coaxing me to swallow – I spent those first moments barely conscious, and entirely unaware. It seemed as if years had passed before I could muster the strength to fight the thick fog that blanketed my mind.

I was so warm, and my limbs felt so _heavy,_ like I was curled in my bed under twelve different blankets in the middle of winter. I could have slept forever. But still, part of me grew anxious at my continued rest, and it fought me tooth over nail until I finally gave in and opened my eyes.

At first, the light was blinding – I retreated underneath the covers with a grumble, only to pause as the movement caused an ache to pulse through my head. A migraine? It had been years since I woke up with a migraine. With a grimace, I forced myself to peek out once more through narrowed eyes – it was still bright, but within a few moments my eyes had mostly adjusted.

The whole room was very... white, which undoubtedly wasn't helping my sudden headache. Where on earth was I? I attempted to scoot up slightly, only to let out a sharp hiss as I felt something pull from my arm – an IV? A needle? Was- was I in the hospital?

Suddenly much more awake, I pressed my shaking fingers to the tape that held the drip in place. What had happened? I could remember-

Wait. Could I remember? What was the last thing... I trailed off internally, blinking my eyes once more as another pulse of pain echoed throughout my skull. Ugh, okay, maybe not the best time to try to remember. Remembering hurt. Maybe Mom knew. Actually, speaking of, where was she?

"Momma?" I attempted to call out, but the sound instead came out as a garbled croak. I stopped with a wince, rubbing at my throat. Christ, how long had I been out? And where was everyone?

It looked like I was in a simple everyday hospital room, like Mom had been when she got that neck surgery a couple years ago. Not an ER room, but an actual, stay-the-night-this-shit-is-serious-room. But it probably wasn't serious, because no one was in here with me. It was kind of weird, actually. No doctors, no nurses, not even any windows. I was completely alone.

Was there a button I could press? I turned around in my bed, pursing my lips as I tried to avoid tugging on the needle lodged in my vein. It didn't even look like their was a monitor or anything besides a drip – nothing to call for help. I set back against my pillows with a huff. Someone had to check on me eventually, right?

Eventually came sooner than expected. It couldn't have been more than two minutes after I woke up that the door opened, revealing a short woman in a rather bizarre white, high-collared jacket. She walked in with her nose buried in a clipboard before halting abruptly when I turned to look at her, having jumped at her entrance.

She blinked. I blinked. She blinked again.

Suddenly, she seemed to come to herself, and began rapidly speaking, removing the clipboard from her face, only-

"Anata wa sudeni me o samashite imasu ka? Soshite, hari ni furenaide kudasai-!" **(1)**

It wasn't English. It wasn't _English._ God, was that Japanese? Why was she speaking Japanese?

"-soshite watashi mo kyūkei-chū ni okinakereba naranakatta-" **(2)** The- nurse? Doctor? Random bystander? Continued to speak rapidly, her words nearly slurring together in their speed. Was- was she lecturing me? I waved my unencumbered hand, trying to fight back the most ridiculous urge to cry. Where was my mom?

I opened my mouth to attempt to explain that, no, I had no idea what she was saying, could you please find someone who speaks English, but suddenly faltered. The words- the words wouldn't work. I couldn't- I let out a slight hiss as my head throbbed once more, and I gripped it with my free hand for a moment, before looking back at her. What had happened? The panic must have shown in my eyes as the lady stopped her rant to peer at me with narrowed eyes.

"Anata wa hanasemasen ka?" **(3)** She barked – a question, I recognized that much. I shook my head gently, trying to impart that I had no idea what she was trying to get across.

I opened my mouth again, trying to say a simple 'no.' No. No, I couldn't even get out the word no, oh my god. Had I hurt my head? Did I have brain damage? Is that why my head hurt? I could feel my breaths getting shorter as the thoughts swirled in my head. What if I could never speak again, what if-

"Yā, ochitsuite!" **(4)** A sharp command interrupted my panic. The woman stared at me dispassionately, before sighing and pointing at the bed in what seemed to be a threatening manner. "Soko ni taizai." **(5)** I shook my head again, already teetering on the urge of hysteria.

I obviously didn't understand her, why did she keep talking? I clenched my fists and tried to calm myself down as the lady spun on her heel and marched back out of the room. The door swung close with a click that echoed almost violently in the otherwise silent room. I was alone again

I felt alone. I needed to be rational. I needed- I need to _think._ My thought processes seemed fine, but I couldn't get the words out, and the attempts made my head ache like I'd never had happen before. Were my vocal chords messed up? Was my brain damaged? And the woman- whoever she was, she was definitely speaking Japanese for some god-forsaken reason. It felt like a nightmare. I wanted to wake up, I wanted to go home, I wanted to _scream-_

The door swung open, hitting the stopper on the adjacent wall with a thud. The woman walked in once more, her lips down-turned, already babbling rapidly to the individual who followed behind her – an elderly man, probably in his 60s or 70s.

He looked rough. A heavily lined face, with liver spots and moles, as any old guy is wont to get. His nose looked crooked, like it had been broken a few times, but the most noticeable features were the scars – little white lines stretching the expanse of his wrinkled skin, cutting through an eyebrow and narrowly avoiding an eye. Was he some kind of veteran?

When the old man looked upon me, I noticed he look... off. Dejected. Almost tired. I would have thought he was maybe a doctor working a late shift, but instead of anything official he seemed to be wearing some kind of robe. He looked vaguely familiar, but I knew with a certainty that I didn't know him – I would have recognized that face.

His eyes slid over my form, halting for a moment on my head, before he opened his mouth to speak. If I'd had the ability to move my right arm, I would've clapped my hands together in prayer to a god I didn't believe in- oh please, holy deities whoever you may be, let him speak English, or literally anything I know a little bit of, let him know whats going on-

No. Japanese. Spoken slower than the woman, but undeniable and still completely foreign. My look of disappointment must have been obvious as he didn't even bother finishing his sentence. The turn of his brows was severe and I couldn't help but hunch my shoulders. Was he angry? What had I done?

I had never regretted taking German over sign language more than I did in that moment.

The old man peered at me for a moment, before uttering a quick phrase, "Watashitachi wa kanojo o korosu kamo shirenai." **(6)** I resisted the urge to sigh, and instead brought my knees to my chest, moving delicately around the needle in my arm. I wasn't even going to bother at this point.

Apparently my lack of response to his words triggered something, because he left out a short huff before turning to the lady once more, speaking again but this time much more rapidly, almost completely ignoring me now.

I strained my ears as best as I could, watching them through narrowed eyes as the nurse tapped a hand against the clipboard grasped to her chest. They seemed to be arguing, maybe? But over what? I could recognize a few words here and there, such as 'watashi,' and 'anata', but nothing substantial. Nothing _helpful._ I might as well go back to sleep and hope that when I woke up the world would be normal again.

My internal tirade was interrupted as the man spoke over the woman, shaking his head at whatever she'd been explaining, before turning to me once more, the tired look back in his eyes. I felt my shoulders hunch slightly, feeling unreasonably guilty for something I hadn't done. I would've spoke if I could have. It wasn't my fault.

The man sighed, looking down at me and hesitating for a moment before placing a hand lightly on my head, and saying only a single word.

"Ah, Naruto."

What.

* * *

 _1\. "What are you doing awake already? And don't touch the drip-!"_  
 _2\. "And you just had to wake up while I was on break-"_  
 _3\. "Do you understand me?"_  
 _4\. "Hey, calm down!"_  
 _5\. "Stay here."_  
 _6\. "We'll just have to kill you, then."_

* * *

 **Sorry for all of the google-translate, I swear after the first couple chapters it'll be gone. Anyway, this is my first story on this account, so be gentle! Or don't. I'm not picky as long as you're saying something.**

 **Forewarning before you get invested, this story will get dark at points - I might end up bumping it from T to M at some point, but it depends.**

 **I'll try to update fairly frequently, but I'm not one for a set schedule.**

 **Question of the chapter: What is your favorite kind of Naruto Self-Insert story?**


	2. Chapter 2

_"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality."_

-Edgar Allen Poe

* * *

That moment seemed to set the tone for the next few days of literally nothing in the world making sense.

It was a daze of unintelligible conversation, being pricked and prodded and having oddly dressed doctors try and get me to communicate with them while I took to miming as best as I could through an oddly persistent headache. No one would tell me where I was, I wasn't allowed to leave, and I didn't recognize anyone.

It was miserable.

The days passed slowly, and I spent them dipping in and out of consciousness, partially to escape the throbbing behind my eyes, but more so to escape the ever-present boredom that seemed to crawl into my chest and camp for the summer. There wasn't even a tv, and it wasn't like I could ask for books. I didn't have my phone, they had apparently not contacted my parents, and for the first time in my life I was alone.

I could barely remember what had happened before I had woken up, the memories, when I could dredge them up, burned in a way I was pretty sure memories weren't supposed to. All I could recall was the screech of tires and- rain?

My only hypothesis had been that I had been in an accident of some sort, but even that didn't explain me suddenly waking up on a completely different continent, never mind without any way to contact anyone.

I had been referred to as Naruto a few more times as well, much to my consternation. The first two days, I was intensely hoping I'd just been brought in wearing a Naruto shirt or something and not in full cosplay, partially because there were some things the general public didn't need to know about me, and also because that would mean it had been ruined.

It had been too expensive for such a fate.

It wasn't until the third day that I was finally given leave to take a shower in the interconnected bathroom. It hadn't been too pressing of an issue as of then, but I couldn't help the anxiety that ran up my spine at the thought of how greasy my hair had to look by this point, let alone my skin.

Standing for the first time had been an experience, to say the least. Hopping down from the highly mounted bed had been difficult enough with the help of one of the nurses that came by fairly often, an older woman with black hair streaked with grey. Her hands were gentle as she held onto my arm, and after days of nothing but clinical hands checking my pulse and IV, it almost ached.

I missed my mom.

My legs wobbled like a newborn calf's as I struggled my way across the tiled floor, feeling as though I'd been sitting on them for days straight. The nurse, thankfully, opened the adjacent door and I was able to stumble inside, plopping down onto the closed toilet seat with a sharp exhale.

There had been a mirror hanging above the sink, one of the types built into the wall itself, a fact I didn't notice until later. The moment I looked up to see just what days without grooming had done to me, I lost a good decade off my life.

It wasn't me.

I immediately squeaked, turning around quickly enough that my neck let out an alarming pop, but there was nothing but an empty shower and wall. But then-

I turned my head to the mirror more slowly, a sinking feeling in my gut. The girl in the mirror turned as well.

Her eyes were a dark blue, with smudges of purple underneath. Her skin was darker than mine, with a grey sheen to it that spoke of illness more than anything. Her hair was a rats nest, cut short and cut badly, greasy and sticking in a million different directions and blonde.

She has three black lines across each cheek.

My hands shook as they reached up to my face, watching with a muted sense of horror as the fingers of the child in the mirror mimicked my movements. I let a finger trace along one of the black lines, and paused, feeling a raised line on my skin. A moment passed.

I didn't take it well.

I can only assume that when minutes passed without the shower turning on, the nurse outside grew concerned. When I didn't answer the knock at the door, she had opened it to see me shoved beside the toilet and the shower, covered in snot and tears, not even able to blurt out the stream of panicked words running rampant through my mind.

I may have passed out. They may have put me to sleep.

All I know is that I woke up that night, alone, in a bed too big, in a country I didn't recognize, in a body that _wasn't mine,_ and decided it was bullshit.

It was bullshit!

Stuff like this didn't happen, it wasn't like people just woke up someday as a fictional character. It wasn't possible. Life didn't work like that.

But then what was going on? I knew myself well enough to know that I spent too much time reading, daydreaming, too much time in my head just hoping. It wasn't unlikely like I could dream something like this up. And whos to say that all dreams don't feel this realistic while they happen? For all I know, every dream I've ever had I've been convinced it was real until the moment I woke up and it faded away.

And, well-

 _the squeal of tires against wet pavement and the press of my seat belt against my chest and I can't gET AWAY_

A car accident. I wasn't the worlds best driver, so it wasn't as though it was impossible. If I'd been in an accident, it would explain why trying to remember is difficult, and if I hurt my head at all, it would explain the constant headache.

Who was to say that I wasn't in a coma? Maybe all comas were this vivid. It's not like I'd ever been in one before, maybe all the people convinced they met god or whatever in a coma were just very vividly hallucinating. I wasn't a doctor, I didn't know.

And even further than that, you can't dream of faces you don't know, right? Maybe my mind just tried to make fictional character real people. Or Lee was trying to wake me up by playing anime or something and I managed to osmosis myself into a weird dream. It was a million times more likely than this being real.

So I decided to roll with it until I woke up. It was like lucid dreaming, I reckoned. I could play out my Naruto dreams or whatever and then wake up and deal with the fact that I had wrecked another car within a year and that my step-mom was probably going to kill me.

Joy.

* * *

The days after what I have tentatively labeled my realization were a bit awkward. Now that I was aware of the situation, I couldn't help my curiosity – the so-called nurses I'd been seeing around were supposed to be medic-nins, apparently. I didn't think I'd seen them use chakra as of yet, but it wasn't like I'd been paying that much attention either.

The downside was that after my freakout in the bathroom, they were paying just as much attention to me as I was them. The older lady who'd found me seemed to hover every time she brought water or medicine, tutting when I only picked at the food they brought as I rarely recognized it and wasn't exactly feeling brave. Even the other two nurses that came around seemed to give me pointed glances when they checked my vitals, however reserved they were.

I noticed that they all looked exhausted. They noticed that I noticed that they looked exhausted. I noticed that they noticed and I got a bit apologetic because I couldn't even be mean to people in Sims let alone in a bizarrely realistic fever dream. They noticed I noticed they noticed and then got apologetic and they seemed to get offended and then I felt even more bad and well-

I added a third reason to sleep the days away now, not that there was much else to do most of the time.

It wasn't until what I believed was a week had passed before anything truly interesting happened, and it came in the form of a stranger whose apparent job was to teach me Japanese.

I didn't recognize him as a character, which was still a bizarre thought, even after the realization that I had apparently met the Hokage already. They looked like real people you'd run into on the street, or see on a pinterest board for portrait references, not like something you'd find in a manga.

Even so, from the pale blonde hair and the bizarrely pale pupils, I wagered that he was supposed to be a Yamanaka. It had been a bit of a culture shock to look into his eyes at first – he did have a pupil, but instead of being black, it was more like a dark grey, which blended in uncomfortably well. How could he see like that?

It was a dream. Genetics and biology had no place in dreams.

I had been dozing when he walked in, my blanket covering everything below my nose, comfortable and warm but not truly asleep. Even so, I hadn't even realized anyone was in the room until I heard someone clearing their throat and about had a heart attack.

Luckily, they had taken my IV out the day prior, so I didn't yank a needle out of my vein as I jerked into a sitting position, eyes wide and heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest. I couldn't resist the urge to narrow my eyes ever so slightly at the man, mollified when he sent back a small smile that may or may not have been apologetic. Maybe it was amused, I was shit-all at reading faces.

Without missing a beat, the man dragged the chair from the desk near my bed and dragged it over, sitting in it backwards like I'd seen many a boy do in class. With his slicked back hair and the stubble along his jaw, it made him look kind of like a douchebag; all he needed was khaki shorts, Nike socks, and ugly neon shoes and he'd fit right in, if you'd age him down a good what, six years?

I was also shit-all at telling ages, oops.

Regardless of my observations, the man seemed friendly, resting his arms on the back of the chair and sending me a cheerful smile which I returned hesitantly. It felt awkward smiling with a face that wasn't mine, not feeling the apples of my cheeks touch the rim of my glasses or the slide of my chapped lips against each other. Still, it was only a dream, so it wasn't too hard to deal with. Not as bad as a drowning nightmare by a long shot.

He opened his mouth and, as usual, Japanese came out. I had discovered over the past few days that it wasn't necessarily traditional Japanese, not that I knew much of that either. I hypothesized that it was maybe just a bizarre dialect, and then further realized that if I didn't know Japanese of course the people in my dreams weren't going to be speaking fluent Japanese – it was probably all just gibberish.

Nevertheless, I could tell it was supposed to be a greeting of some sort by the, "Uzumaki-chan," tagged on to the end of it.

I brought up a hand to wave hesitantly, uncomfortable at how sharply his eyes followed the movement.

He paused for only a moment – maybe giving me time to respond? – before talking once more, this time a short statement. He gestured to his chest, and said, "Yamanaka Isao." I couldn't help feeling smug because I had totally guessed that, before I realized he was looking at me expectantly.

I furrowed my eyebrows. I couldn't speak, he should probably know that. Lord knows I'd tried asking for help these past few days, and discovered that the words just didn't seem to work, almost like if the path from my brain to my mouth was a river, and someone had raised the draw bridge. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldn't- I just _couldn't._ I hoped it was just some bizarre side effect of the fever dream.

The man, Isao, repeated himself. "Yamanaka Isao. Isao. I-sa-o." He spoke slowly, gesturing towards himself once more as he did so. I gave him a pointed look, but as he didn't seem to plan on doing anything else, I figured I'd at least prove my point.

I opened my mouth, waiting for the inevitable lack of anything, when- "I-sa–" my voice broke, having been but a rasp, and I could feel my eyes widening in surprise. What the fuck? In what world does that make sense?

Coma logic.

Isao seemed pleased. He pointed at the glass of water still resting on the raised bar on the side of my bed and I tentatively grabbed it and took a sip, watching him as I did so. He waited for me to set the glass back down before he spoke once more.

"Isao." He announced. I cleared my throat, licking my lips and figuring what the hell, why not.

"I-sa-o." I sounded out, pleasantly surprised that it actually sounded quite accurate, regardless of the rasp in my voice from disuse. Isao gave me a thumbs up and a bright smile, and went for another round.

"Ya-ma-na-ka."

Another sip of water later, and "Ya-ma. Ya-ma-na-ka." The syllables felt award on my tongue in a way that was hard to describe, like linking your fingers together one finger off. It's not like it didn't work, but it was mildly unpleasant.

It still didn't explain why the fuck English didn't work. What magic bullshit explained that one?

Seemingly oblivious to my plight, Isao had me repeat both parts of his name, separately, and then together. And after that, I had oodles of fun slowly sounding out the syllables to 'Uzumaki Naruto,' which was remarkably easier than his name had been. It's not like I didn't say it enough in my everyday life I supposed. Who even knew at this point.

After that, the fun began – prepositions and other grammatical happenings. Isao would place his hand on his chest, and say, "Watashi wa Isao. Anata wa Naruto." And after a moment of realizing what that was supposed to mean, I'd mimic it back, slowly forming the words on my tongue, and was pleasantly surprised when my accent actually seemed pretty good. Better than my German accent at least.

This went on for what I would tentatively wager was about an hour and a half, the sentences getting longer and overtime the subtle throbbing in my skull making an abrupt reappearance as I tried to process the information.

I didn't know Japanese. How on earth can I be taught Japanese in a dream when the mind making the dream didn't know Japanese? Unless my earlier theory that Lee was trying to wake me up with anime was accurate, or this guy was basically teaching me Simlish and I'd forget everything when I woke up. Or maybe someone was playing "How to Speak Japanese" lessons for me as I slept, trying to osmosis some knowledge into me.

Whatever the case, real language or not, trying to learn a language when you can't ask questions is remarkably difficult and not good for what is turning out to be a chronic migraine.

Isao seemed to be able to tell, at least, which I appreciated. He nodded after I mimicked back what I thought to be something along the lines of ,"I am here," but may have been, "This is a floor." He said something to me, nothing recognizable except 'I' and the name Naruto with a -chan tacked onto the end. I gave him a dull stare which he returned with a quirk to his lips, and he reached out to ruffle my hair which I flinched away from without meaning to, immediately cringing when he paused.

Regardless of how nice he was, I was a young woman and he was a very tall man I did not know very well. I barely liked my friends touching me, I was not enjoying this incessant need for people to pat my head.

Isao's expression blanked, but he retracted his hand, and I gave him a apologetic look, tugging absently at my hair. The man smiled once more a moment later and instead of touching me this time, he simply waved. "Mata ashita, Naruto-Chan!"

I could wager that that was a goodbye of some sort, so I mimicked it after a moment. "Mata a-shi-ta, Isao."

The man waggled a finger at me. "Mata ashita Isao- _san."_ He corrected and I pursed my lips slightly, unable to prevent the sting of irritation at being corrected on my level of formality by a figment of my imagination.

"Mata ashi-ta, Isao- _chan_." I repeated in a, still slightly hoarse, deadpan. The older man puffed his cheeks out slightly, his nose wrinkling a bit – it was all a bit exaggerated, though I could only assume it was because of how young this body was. It was a bit grating though, I had to admit, being a legal adult. I suppose it was nice to see he was good with kids?

"Gaki~!" Isao announced, before waving at me and walking towards the door with one last phrase I didn't recognize. After a brief moment, the click of the door closing sounded through the otherwise quiet room, and I let out a soft sigh, rubbing at my face once more, the pads of my fingers dragging across the raised lines on my cheeks.

I hoped I woke up soon.

* * *

 **So I decided I'm not going to go through and say what every individual Japanese phrase is, mostly because it kind of interrupts the narrative flow.**

 **Sorry its been like/ 10 months oops. Inspiration did finally strike though! I do have most of this story plotted out, but I started college this fall so its been a bit hectic adjusting :o**

 **Anywho, please feel free to leave a review! Be gentle, or don't, as long as you're saying something~!**

 **Question of the Chapter:** **If you had a specialty as a ninja, what would it be?**


	3. Chapter 3

_"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."_

-Khalil Gibran

* * *

Isao came the next day. And the next day. And the next.

It quickly got to the point where I saw him more than I saw everyone else in the hospital – the nurses seemed to have certain days off, while Isao just kept coming. It seemed as though my language lessons were of a high priority, and thus the older shinobi would arrive every day, though irritatingly enough never at the same time.

The first week or so, it was a constant struggle on my part, more because of the futility of it than anything. Why even bother learning something that I'm going to forget? Why put effort into memorization through the pounding in my skull if I'm not going to get anything out of it? It was redundant, and it was _boring._

But honestly? I was lonely. I wasn't sure how long exactly it'd been – two weeks? That was my best guess, I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep before waking up either. But that was two weeks of not only no contact with my loved ones, but also two weeks of being almost completely unable to communicate. I was by no means the most social person I knew, but I was used to consistent companionship – at least having my dog at my side, or being able to text Lee if I was bored, and now I had no one.

No one but the irritatingly chipper Yamanaka who seemed determined to grind adverbs into my brain.

I rubbed absently at my face, trying semi-desperately to tune out the sound of Isao's rambling. It had gotten to the point where I could get the gist of most things he was saying, or so I thought. More like I hoped.

"Naruto-chan? Are you listening?" Another achievement of the past fortnight was that I was learning to respond to Naruto. It was bizarre, but I tried to think of it kind of like a nickname, like "Memo." There was still that moment of 'who?' but eventually I would raise my head and respond.

If I wanted to, at least. "No." I grumbled, stubbornly covering my eyes. The days had barely dulled the now constant headache that pounded at the base of my skull. While headaches weren't something you could really get used to, I'd adapted at this point, the throbbing becoming just another aspect of my current situation, if one that fucking sucked. I would've killed a man for a handful of ibuprofen at this point, and I would've killed a dozen for one of my mom's tramadol.

"Gankona gaki!" Isao griped, and I moved my fingers, peering through them with a single eye, my expression deadpan. I might not know what 'gankona' meant, but I'd been called brat enough times since I got here to realize it wasn't anything kind.

"I'm tired." I whined, bringing my knees up to my chest, setting my chin down on top of them and glaring. The blonde haired man barely seemed to notice my sour mood from his perch at the end of my bed. He'd gotten awfully familiar with me, but honestly I was started to go a bit crazy from the lack of interpersonal contact, so I didn't mind too much. I'd still complain about it though, because otherwise he would win.

The Yamanaka let out a deep hum, tilting his head in a way reminiscent of a curious puppy, though the intentness of his light-pupil stare showed that wasn't the case. "You need to learn this." He scolded, tapping his fingers against the sheets. "Don't you want to leave?"

I immediately stilled, my posture straightening slightly. What did he mean leave? I mean, I guess if this fever dream was going to go all out, I wouldn't be stuck in this hospital room the whole time, but a part of me could hardly imagine a real life – well, "real life," Konoha. Did the Hokage Mountain really look like Mt. Rushmore? Would I get to try Ichiraku Ramen? Would I- actually, where would I be leaving too? Did Naruto have his apartment yet? Or, I suppose, _her_ apartment? I didn't actually have any idea how old this body was. But I could at least ask that one.

Isao hadn't said anything else while I thought, seemingly content to let me mull over the idea in my head. When I raised my eyes to meet his, he quirked an eyebrow and I resisted the urge to scowl.

"How-" Wait, what was the word for age? Or old? "How many numbers am I?" I asked somewhat sheepishly. I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I figured he could at least wrap his head around that one.

There was another pause, and the other man's expression changed slightly, becoming harder to read – if I had to wager a guess, I'd say he looked sorry for me, and I really couldn't blame him. I could barely imagine having a child, a to my knowledge formerly cognizant child, ask me in all seriousness how old they were – it would be beyond depressing. Still, he rolled with it, his lips twisting into the bright grin I'd become all to familiar with, as he held up one hand.

"You are four-" something something, "Naruto-chan!" Years old, maybe? He held up four fingers, so that was a pretty strong hypothesis.

"I am four… years old?" I attempted to mimic, and Isao nodded, the four fingers turning into a thumbs up. I nodded to myself, that phrase would probably be useful, before turning to the prior subject.

Did the anime ever actually say when Naruto got his own apartment? I know a lot of stuff I'd read had had him get one when he started the academy, but I honestly didn't know when that was. Fanon had most kids entering at eight, and since Naruto took the graduation test a few times, its likely he'd been younger, but I highly doubted he was in the academy at four.

Oh god, was I going to an orphanage? I stared intently at Isao, unable to completely swallow the pang of unease that crept through me. "Where I will go?"

"It's 'where will I go,'" Isao corrected absently – this had become something of a reflex for him by now, before responding to my question. "And you will be going back to the ikujin."

I scowled at him, crossing my arms. He should know by now to stop using words he hasn't taught me yet – context clues don't fix everything, you daft Yamanaka. Though, maybe it did in this case. He'd said 'the,' something. Unless ikujin was the world for academy, I was probably fucked.

Though this was still my dream, it couldn't be that bad, right? Unless it turned into a nightmare. But maybe I could change it at that point? And honestly, this wasn't Annie, its not like orphanages were legitimate hell holes. This was a relatively prosperous village, and even in the anime most of the 'hate' Naruto got was dismissal of his existence. I could totally live with that.

It would suck, but so did literally all of middle school, so I could deal.

"What is?" I asked after another beat of silence – like the twat didn't already know I didn't know the word. I swear he was just trying to get me to talk more. It was hard though, having to translate everything in my head before saying it, and even then lacking the words half the time. English was my forte, I didn't exactly enjoy sounding like a dumbass.

Isao's grin returned, just like it always did. "What is what?" He said, crossing his own arms, mimicking my position. I let out a huff, moving the cover on the bed so that it surrounded my like a cloak. Lets see the coverless bastard copy that one.

"What is an ikujin?" I dutifully responded, my tone dull. Did he have to make ever sentence a lesson?

"There you go!" Isao clapped his hands together, the sound reverberating through the small room. "And an ikujin is… hmm," He trailed off, eyes darting to the side for a quick second before returning. "It is a place with many brats. A nice lady takes care of you."

Yeah that was definitely an orphanage, however simply that was explained.

"What else do I teach?" I asked, swallowing down my anxiety for the moment. "Before I go?"

"What else do you need to learn." Came the immediate correction, before the man waggled his finger in my direction. "And you have to learn your formalities!" Ah yes, the one big word I knew, because Isao had not stopped harping on it the entire fucking time I knew him.

Apparently I had wounded his manly pride by calling him 'Isao-chan,' that first day. And of course, out of spite, I continued to do so, no matter how he attempted to bribe me. There was something delightful about watching a grown man pout and flail about, however exaggerated I knew the actions had to be. It's not like I wasn't polite to the nurses – well, med-nins. I'd been gently corrected by the older woman, whose name I learned to be Fujiwara, and told to call her -sensei. I called her and the other doctors by their correct title, and if the Hokage had come back, I would've called him -sama, but there was no way I was going to give Isao the satisfaction of a proper address.

It was payback for all the grammar.

I stared at him for a moment, meeting his eyes dead on, and paused as if considering it. A minute of silence passed. "No." I deadpanned, turning away and laying my head back down on my pillow, hoping in vain that he would take that as his queue to leave for the day.

By the drawn out, "Naruto-chaaaaaaaaaaaan~!" that followed my reply, I can only assume he did not.

* * *

I may have won that battle, but I did not win the war.

Roughly three days passed before it became obvious that, regardless of whether or not I gave in to Isao's constant prodding, I was going to have to leave the hospital. Whatever in-world reason Naruto had had for being here, he, or she, or _I_ for that matter, had apparently healed enough to be released.

Isao had grudgingly explained as much at what I was informed was to be our last lesson – in simple terms, I was told that I had hurt my head, but I was 'all better now,' and thus free to go. I could only wager that I'd somehow hurt my head in real life and that had carried over to the coma dream, and also functioned as an explanation for why Naruto apparently didn't remember Japanese, or who she was.

In addition to learning that I was being kicked to the curb, I also came to the startling discovery that Naruto's chakra had apparently been sealed while he was here.

I was only made aware of this the night before check-out, when the nurse who I'd met when I'd first woken arrived alongside another unfamiliar man whose face was obscured by a white mask, detailed with red markings made to resemble a bird of some sort. ANBU. It hadn't been any mask I'd recognized, and the hair didn't exactly ping on my radar either – the man's hair was long and black, tied near the top of his head in a bizarre kind of bun. The medic-nin didn't bother to introduce him, and he said nothing when he entered alongside her.

It had been a very confusing and clinical experience – most of the nurses by this point had learned to simplify what they said if they had any desire to be understood, but the woman, apparently named Izuku-sensei, didn't bother. It felt remarkably like being run over with a Japanese dictionary – half the time I could barely tell if she was talking to me, let alone the words she was saying. I caught the word 'Uzumaki,' a few times, and had barely tried to start translating her litany when she stopped, her expression irritated as she stood tapping her foot in front of me.

I hunched my shoulders slightly, avoiding eye contact. "Um… what?" I asked when she didn't move to continue speaking. The med-nin let out a sharp sigh, her lips pursing before responding.

"Lie on your stomach, Uzumaki." She ordered, enunciating each syllable. Intended that way or not, it sounded like a threat, and I was nervous enough to comply without questioning. Part of me wanted to ask what was going on, but I seriously doubted at this point that Izuku-sensei was going to have enough patience to clue me in.

It was beyond uncomfortable laying exposed, knowing only that a doctor and an assassin were staring at not only my back, but my bare ass (thank you hospital gown). Not that it was a sight to see, being in the body of a four year old, and not that it really mattered, being that it wasn't actually my body, but it still made me want to put on about twelve pairs of pants. I never thought I'd miss jeans, but here I am, missing jeans.

There was a sudden pressure between my shoulder blades, and it was cold, holy shit. And- wet? I started craning my neck to the side to see what was happening, only to be met with a barked order of, "Stay still!" leaving me curious and unnerved. It felt like someone was, what, painting on me? From where Izuku-sensei's voice had come from, I could only imagine that it was the ANBU doing this.

There was no explanation for the next few minutes, and the time seemed to drag and drag and drag. I could barely resist the urge to fidget, putting all my focus into counting to ten in as many languages as I could, when I felt… something.

It was warm. I could feel it softly simmering in my chest, like I'd just chugged a mug of hot chocolate.

And then it was hot.

And then it was _hot._ It was like the hot chocolate had in fact supernova-ed inside of my ribcage and the resulting froth had decided to bury its way into each and every capillary, bringing the blistering liquid to every limb, every cell, every god-forsaken atom in my body, and it burned. I couldn't have stopped the spasm that overcame my body if I wanted to, or the choked off scream that left my mouth.

It hurt, oh god, it _burned,_ make it stop, make it stop, make it sTOP-

There was the muffled sound of shouting and then a sharp, stinging pain against the skin of my back, and then suddenly-

Relief. I collapsed bonelessly into the hospital bed as the heat suddenly retreated, climbing back up my limbs until it nestled once more inside my chest cavity, still hotter than the initial surge, but monumentally less intense than the hell that had occurred before. I could barely make out any other noises in the room over the sound of my ragged breathing, face pressed into a pillow and sweat beading at my forehead.

What the fuck did they just do to me?

I struggled to get on my knees, urging my shaking arms to hold my weight when there was a light pressure on my head. I immediately flinched away from it, falling back to the bed and losing my progress, but not willing to risk getting touched again when I could still taste the results of the last one in the bile at the back of my throat. I let out a weak whine, looking blearily up at whoever had moved to touch me, and heard only a single word.

"Sleep."

The voice was deep and the tone left no room for refusal. My body, this body, was too fucking tired to care.

I closed my eyes and let myself collapse into the damp sheets, the bizarre sensation of _warm_ curling up like an errant kitten in my chest.

* * *

Needless to say, I was an unhappy camper the next morning.

Not because of any remaining aches or what have you, but because I'd had that disaster dumped on me without any warning, and when I had attempted to ask the doctor who came to check on me, I hadn't received any explanation at all.

Even if I was actually four, did they expect me to just drop it!?

I could only wager that it had been a seal of some sort and thus had been ink on my back and not some bougie mud-bath treatment, mainly as a result of two things: first, my headache was gone.

And by gone, I mean _gone._ I had nearly forgotten what it was like to live without the ever-present throbbing behind my eyes, and the haze of pain diluting my every action and thought. For the first time since I got here, I felt like I could really take in my surroundings, and it was this that led to point two.

I could still feel the warmth. Maybe the fire inside my veins had left them raw and sensitive, but in any case, I could feel whatever it was in my sternum, real enough that I was half convinced I'd be able to see it if I turned out the lights. It was the physical equivalent of someone turning on a nightlight, but one strong enough that you could see almost everything in the room. I could feel the 'whatever' in the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my feet and everything in between. It was like being wrapped in a blanket after having almost died a blanket-related death – comfortable and something you want to avoid at any cost.

Regardless of what is was like now, I couldn't get rid of the constant paranoia that it was going to flare up again out of nowhere and burn me alive from the inside out. Spontaneous combustion was by far one of my worst nightmare scenarios.

It took a solid hour of pouting when no one would answer me and the following half hour of contemplation for me to realize what this was probably supposed to be – chakra. Of course it was chakra, I felt like a dumbass for not realizing it before. A sudden energy? Seals? What did I expect, poison?

Though that did make me wonder what had triggered this in the real world, were they putting me on a new medication? Some kind of IV? Maybe I had an allergic reaction to a drug they gave me? I'd have to ask when I woke up.

I couldn't entirely blame myself for not realizing what had happened was, what, unlocking my chakra? Because as far as I was aware, it wasn't supposed to hurt. I knew chakra burns were a thing, but that was from being stupid with techniques if I recalled correctly. I couldn't imagine what they had done that would've caused Naruto's chakra to react like it did, unless they done something to it when he'd been admitted. But what?

I would've loved to know, but I could barely ask about my own age, let alone walk up to someone and say, "Hey, what was up with that chakra surge burning through my body like it wanted to personally welcome me to hell?" Were four-year-olds even supposed to know what chakra was? I mean, Naruto didn't know what it was when he graduated, so I definitely shouldn't, right?

This was a dream though, so it's not like it really mattered if I 'messed up the plot.'

My inspection of this new source of energy was nontheless interrupted by none other than the current bane of my existence, Yamanaka Isao. After a brief knock, the man opened the door to my room and peeked his head inside, eyebrows partially hidden behind his forehead protector and customary smile at his lips.

"Today's the day, Naruto-chan!" He announced, walking in and casually kicking the door shut behind him. I winced, waiting for the following throb in my head but- no, that wasn't a problem anymore was it? I relaxed, letting out a soft sigh as the older man made his way over, hands placed on his hips as he looked down at me. "Izuku-sensei says that you are ready to be-" a word I don't know. Lynched? Bedazzled? Serenaded?

"Ready to what?" I asked, like I couldn't guess – maybe I wouldn't have to deal with his incessant need to hear my voice if I played along early.

"Ready to leave, then." He rephrased easily and I sighed, bunching up my cover in my hands. I wasn't, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice. The orphanage, or as I thought of it in my head, The Orphanage, was an unknown. However boring and uncomfortable this hospital room was, it had become a home base for me. Home is where you fall asleep the easiest, and I felt like I could pass out at the drop of a hat here. I didn't want to go and be surrounded by people I was expected to talk to, I didn't want to have to deal with meeting fake new people all over again, I wanted to wake up and get on with my life.

This had already dragged on so much longer than I thought it would.

"I'm ready." I replied after a slight hesitation, already moving to swing my legs off the side of the bed, a feeling of satisfaction flowing through me as I stood without my legs shaking. Actually, no, that was something actually flowing through me – the energy had, what, purred? It wasn't an exact description, but that was as far as I could get. It was unsettling to say the least. Combination of my spiritual and physical energies it may be, but feeling the lava juice in my veins wiggle around when I get excited is not exactly something I look forward to.

But seriously, had Naruto been suffering from chakra exhaustion? Because it was remarkable how much better I felt this morning. Why hadn't they fixed me sooner, if this was going to be the result?

Coma logic, I guessed.

"Great! I have some clothes for you, I'll leave you to-" and another word I don't know, but I could Blue's Clues this one, "-call for me when you're done." Isao finished, setting a small bag – and how had a missed that? – at the foot of the bed. He reached over to ruffle my hair, successfully avoiding my attempt at dodging, before casually strolling back out of the room.

I grumbled under my breath, fiddling with the bizarre hack-job haircut that Naruto had until my bangs got out of my eyes, before opening the bag. The clothing was pretty par for the course from what the boy had worn as a child in the manga, just a simple t-shirt and shorts. More than anything, it was a form of pants, and I was nevertheless fucking delighted.

I slipped everything on with ease and then looked down at myself, as was par for the course when trying on new clothes. I couldn't help the slight vertigo I felt, looking down **and** seeing a child's body instead of my own.

I stared for a moment at the flat planes of my body where before were soft curves and shuddered, quickly looking away. I crumbled the clothing bag in my tiny fists, swallowing down whatever anxiety I had. I didn't have time for this, I had placed to go and people to see.

A deep breath.

"I'm ready!"

* * *

 **An actual update, in less than a year!? Its a christmas miracle guys! Anyhow, this is a bit of a dry chapter, but we get into the fun stuff next chapter, including the introduction of a couple canon characters!**

 **The ANBU is also technically canon, can you guess who he is?**

 **Feel free to comment or critique! Feedback keeps me going, and I reply to every review!**

 **Question of the Chapter:** **If you could have any animal as your summons, what would it be any why?**


	4. Chapter 4

"Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored."

-Aldous Huxley

* * *

I honestly couldn't say what I had expected.

Brimstone and fire? Death, destruction, mayhem? Maybe a nice musical number and a row of sullen orphans tap-dancing to the sound of, "It's a Hard Knock Life?" I wasn't quite sure.

The idea of an orphanage had always been one of those unreal realities. You see them in media, in movies and books and shows, but never really heard about people _living_ in them, at least in this day and age. It was all foster homes and parents now.

Konoha obviously did not get the memo.

Konohagakure was a large village – a lot larger than I had imagined. I'd lived in a relatively large town, but it was positively dwarfed by the hidden village – probably closer to some of the smaller American cities. It was no New York City, there were no streetlights or skyscrapers, just a bizarre hodgepodge of traditional eastern architecture and the occasional bizarrely modern amenity.

It was mind-boggling to see first hand. Yet another thing I didn't really know what to expect – I felt like a tourist on vacation, trailing awkwardly behind Isao, who had shortened his strides so that I could catch up. He'd offered me his hand, probably noting with those stupid pale eyes my nervousness, but I had staunchly refused it.

Coma-dream or not, I wasn't actually a four-year-old girl, and I was self-sufficient enough to walk to my potential doom alone.

Konoha was alive in a way I didn't expect – honestly, I was a bit dumbfounded my mind was even capable of coming up with a site such as this. It was similar to what I'd remembered from the anime, though god it'd been years since I'd actually watched an episode, but the colors weren't the same saturated hues from Netflix, instead earthy and natural and _real._

It felt real.

It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that it wasn't.

The orphanage itself wasn't all that different from the buildings surrounding it, if a bit bigger. It was two stories and quite large, with a variety of windows and traditional Japanese architecture elements. It was a light tan color, but obviously old. Even from hear I could spot chipped paint and moss, and parts of the wall where the texture didn't quite match. It honestly looked like the building equivalent of fixing a broken project with hot glue and then painting over it – rushed and ugly, but it worked.

It wasn't obviously an orphanage by any stretch of the imagination. It's not like they had a sign or anything, and there weren't toys scattered across the yard, though on the way in I had thought I'd seen a swing in the backyard. It wasn't super loud, but once we'd entered, I could hear the muffled sound of laughter.

Isao had walked me in, patted my head and chatted with the lady who greeted us far too quickly for me to keep up with, and then left me.

The fucker left said a brief, "Mata ashita, Naruto-chan!" and disappeared into a small flurry of leaves and I was left standing there, bug-eyed, fists curling in the fabric of my t-shirt and feeling like a gnat under the eyes of the woman in front of me.

A half hour later, and here I am.

Apparently the woman was the orphanage's matron, who was to be called Kayo-san, and the orphanage I was in was just one of many in Konoha. She cut a severe figure, with dark brown hair cut at her chin, narrow black eyes, and, perhaps most prominently, only a single arm. Kayo walked with her shoulders back, a bleak expression on her face, and every word that left her mouth seemed like it took an enormous effort.

Maybe she was a Nara. Then I'd just need an Akimichi to complete the set.

"This is your room, Uzumaki." She drawled, arms crossed from where she loomed behind me. I couldn't help but hunch my shoulders, even as I nodded and peered through the door into the rather small room.

The walls were a mottled beige, and there were four small beds pressed almost against each other – there was barely any room to walk, and just thinking about living in there with three other breathing bodies made me claustrophobic.

I cautiously stepped in, eyes darting back to see if Kayo had anything to say, but she remained silent.

None of the beds looked particularly lived in – there was a small dresser shoved in the far corner of the room, but the beds were all made the same, and I didn't see any stuffed animals or clothes.

"Kayo-san?" I asked, eyebrows furrowed, unable to completely swallow the thrum of anxiety inside of me. God, I never thought I'd miss the chemical smell of the hospital, but here I am. Missing it.

I blamed Isao.

"Hm?" The older woman's turned to me slowly, eyes half-lidded. "What is it?"

I gestured to the beds around me. "Mine is?" I questioned, only to pause a moment after, lips twisting. I was, like, 500% certain that that made absolutely no fucking sense. Um, okay, maybe- "The bed mine is?" Maybe?

There was a brief stilted pause before the older woman let out a sharp sigh. "You mean which bed is yours?" It took me a minute to understand her words, as she talked far faster than Isao did, but I hesitantly nodded.

On the bright side, I no longer had to parrot back everything that was said to me, so that was nice.

Kayo pushed off from the door frame and followed me in, pointing at the bed pressed against the window, which made me give a slight sigh of relief. It was better than being shoved in the middle, if nothing else. "That one's yours. Your roommates are Ringo, Fujio Hatsue, and Hanata Chinami." As each name was said she gestured to one of the beds – I slept next to Chinami, apparently.

"They… know me?" I asked, eyebrows furrowed. The names were all unfamiliar so I certainly didn't know them, but maybe Naruto did?

Kayo hummed in response, watched me through heavily lidded eyes. "Ringo-chan and Chinami-chan have been your roommates since they entered the orphanage. Hatsue-chan arrived while you were in the hospital, and your old roommate got-." A word I didn't recognize.

I blinked dully at her for a moment, trying to sort through all the _words,_ but what she'd said was more or less understandable after a moment. There was only the one word I didn't understand, but I could context-clues that one to assume she meant adopted.

"…Yes." I responded after a moment, seeing that Kayo had apparently expected a response. What else did she want me to say? 'Cool, don't know who literally any of them are.' Wait, were they Naruto's friends? Because I was pretty sure Naruto didn't have any. "Are…" Oh shit what was the word for friend? "Do they… like me?" Better.

Kayo's expression blanked at the question and I winced a bit. Ah, figured.

Well I'd always liked kids, so maybe this wouldn't be too bad. I could probably deal with them a lot better than an actual four year old could anyway.

* * *

Oh god I could not deal with this at all.

Nothing in twelve years of schooling could have possibly prepared me for the experience of being roughly shoved by what was little more than a toddler with a smattering of freckles, missing front teeth, and _blue hair._

It started like this.

After showing me my room, Kayo had given me a brief tour of the orphanage – this is where we eat, this is where we hold lessons, this is the bathroom, etc. She's seem all too eager to finish her job and go back to whatever it is she did when not showing supposed amnesiac orphans the place they grew up in. As soon as she finished showing me the kitchen, she trotted me out to the backyard where about twenty kids were running me around, and left me with little more than a, "Be good."

It felt like this was becoming a bit of a running theme.

Nevertheless, I was thus alone, standing awkwardly outside the back door, looking over the children as best as I could.

The seemed to come in a variety of ages – I could make out babies laying on their backs on a blanket in the far corner of the yard, being watched over by a girl who looked to be about twelve. There were a smattering of boys playing what may have been tag, a group of girls making flower crowns out of dandelions, and a few kids playing around on a rather dilapidated swing set. It gave me more elementary-school recess vibes than anything.

I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself.

With a feeling almost uncomfortably like stage fright, I decided to do what I do best and wallflower it up, making my way as quickly as possible to one of the many trees in the yard and promptly sitting down behind it. The trunk was wide enough that no one should really be able to see me from most spots in the yard. As much as I loved kids, I had -3 desire to talk to one right now.

I was exhausted.

My head ached with phantom pains, and the mass of energy in my veins was moving sluggishly through my limbs now that I was sitting. It was so easy to forget that I'd been in the hospital for weeks, where the most physical activity I got was walking to the bathroom most days.

My muscles, or rather Naruto's muscles, hadn't atrophied by any stretch of the imagination, still retaining the childhood elasticity that I could vaguely recall having myself once upon a time. I felt remarkably better than I had when my chakra had still been sealed off, but after walking halfway across the village and being dragged across the house, I felt like I could sleep for the next year.

And then the talking. No one had ever mentioned how draining it was to have to sit and purposefully translate everything you heard. It wasn't like simlish-Japanese was my default – everything I heard sounded like gibberish more or less unless I sat there and forced the connections to form. It took a lot more effort than I'd expected, probably because I was used to the nurses and Isao purposefully slowing down their speech.

Kayo did not seem to bother with that.

I needed to get better, I realized with a twist of my lips. Honestly, talking to the other children would probably help with that, since kid's vocabularies were more simplified and everything, but—

…Why was I bothering? I shook myself, clenching my fists in the grass as I let out a soft sigh. It was too easy to forget that this wasn't real. Kayo and Isao and even the Hokage were just figments of my imagination, just pieces of a dream I was going to wake up from. I knew that, I really did, but god sometimes it seemed too _real_. I could smell the magnolia tree I was sitting under, I could hear the muffled singing of the little boy on the swings, feel the soft breeze against my cheeks and taste the rice I'd eaten that morning. The sensations seemed so horribly, horribly real, and sometimes I almost wanted to pretend.

It would be so easy to just play along. Of course I'm Naruto, savior of the world, yadda yadda. Pretend stuff like this actually happened, that I could be important and do things with my life that mattered. But honestly, I knew pretending would just backfire. If I remembered this when I woke up, I'd just be disappointed. I had to face reality.

Abruptly, though, reality was facing me, and they were a little over 3ft tall.

"Eww, who let you back in?" A high pitched voice said, causing me to look up from the increasingly large pile of grass I was creating, bewildered.

It was a bunch of girls. The girls who had been making flower crowns, I realized, noting the yellow dandelions tucked in pockets or stuck haphazardly behind ears. The one who was talking was the smallest, which was saying something, dressed in an oversized grey t-shirt and a pair of green capri-like pants. She was barefoot, and her pale skin was covered in freckles. Oh, and she had blue hair. _Blue hair._ Ridiculous. Punnet squares are bursting into flames as we speak.

So startled was I at this genetic anomaly that I didn't respond, which apparently was not the response she wanted.

The little girl huffed and stomped her foot, scowling down at me with all the ferociousness a toddler can muster – a surprising amount, actually. "What, didja get even stupider when you were gone, fat-face?" She asked, and the girls behind her snickered, grinning.

I blinked, because oh my god? For a moment I had wondered if I had translated that right, because _fat-face?_ I was almost hurt for a moment before I realized that I wasn't in my actual body, but rather in the body of a by-no-stretch-of-the-imagination-fat four year old. This was the epitome of toddler insults. Wow.

"…no?" I responded hesitantly, because seriously what the fuck do I do in this situation? The blue-haired girl huffed, crossed her arms and sneered. The girl beside her, who was a good few inches taller and had a full head of remarkably normal _brown_ hair, scrunched her nose up.

"Heard you messed up so bad you f'got everythin'!" Brown-hair piped up, like she'd said something particularly witty. The other girls tittered as if she had. Low standards, maybe?

"…Yes? I did?" It sounded like a question when I responded, but the only person I was really questioning was god. Or Kami or whatever the fuck deity. Whoever put me in this situation, honestly.

"S'cause you're a waste a' space! Ain't got no room in your head for stuff, just room for ugly, fat-face!" Brown-hair crowed, and Blue-haired grinned down at me, crossed her arms and looking satisfied. It took me a minute to decipher that, because for all that the words were simple, it was harder to pick them apart when they were slurred together like that. Even so, what, was I supposed to cry? Would I have cried at this when I was actually four? …Probably, actually. Or I'd have hit them.

I'm not going to hit them now though, I do have some morals.

"…Okay?" It had been amusing for a minute but watching a group of children try to bully me was not exactly how I'd wanted to spend my time. I'd much rather take a nap or something. Apparently, said group of children did not agree, because not a moment later I found myself being roughly pushed back, letting out a yelp of surprise as my head banged against the trunk of the tree, because _holy shit?!_

It had been blue hair that pushed me, and as I'd not been respecting her to actually _hit me_ because _what the fuck_ , I'd been unprepared for the rough shove. And it was rough, enough that my head stung like a son-of-a-bitch as it happened.

"You better remember your place, fat-face!" Blue hair spat, apparently attempting to loom over me. "Your nothin', you hear me? I'm gonna be a great kun'ichi and your gonna eat dirt and die!" And okay, holy shit, holy shit? This child was intense? Were children always this intense or was this just the coma dream amping it up for the drama value?

I decided to just not reply this time because that obviously hadn't made them happy before. Brown hair high-fived one of the other girls and blue-hair looked smug, content in having caused me physical harm, apparently. They got ready to leave, but brown hair called out a single parting line.

"Next time you fall offa roof, make sure it's a taller one!" She shouted, looking immensely vindicated, and then they were gone, and I was left with the knowledge that I had just been thoroughly bullied by a pack of young girls.

Wow.

I wasn't feeling particularly emotionally damaged being, you know, a legal adult and everything, but if that was the kind of stuff that Naruto had grown up with? Jesus Christ, it's a miracle the kid didn't kill himself or everyone around him. It's one thing for little girls to tell each other they're ugly and everything, but that had been a lot of, "please go die, but painfully," on top of the usual meanness of little girls.

I slowly leaned forward again, reaching a hand up to prod the back of my hand, startled when I realized my head was _wet._ A quick survey revealed a little bit of blood. A little girl with blue hair made me bleed, I realized dully. But, I noticed as I prodded my head a bit more, it didn't hurt at all. Seeing as how the chakra juice in my veins now seemed to be contentedly burning in my skull, I'd wager a solid guess as to that being why.

Chakra was so weird. I really needed to figure out what medicine they put me on to feel like this when I woke up.

Still, I thought as I wiped the blood off absently in the grass, staring down at my slightly stained fingers. There was something unsettling about that. About watching children be so cruel. A thrum of unease went through me as I thought of my own little siblings.

The twins were supposed to be turning ten in only a couple months. They'd be in fifth grade next year. I was almost positive that they'd never dealt with any like that before.

I hoped they were okay.

I missed them.

I really wanted to wake up.

* * *

And I'm back at it again, half a year later (woops). The chapter cuts off at a bit of a weird place, but if I'd left it, chapter 4 would be equal in length to the first three chapters combined, which I wanted to avoid. The tone for this chapter is still fairly light-hearted, but fair warning: the tags don't lie.

Confession time though, I have chapter 7-9 written, but these next few ones are /killing me/ so I've been avoiding them and skipping around. My bad!

Would love to see thoughts, critiques, and comments!

 **Question of the Chapter:** If you had to wake up as a canon character, who would you pick and why?


End file.
